


Song Of Sorrow

by nightlock_21 (orphan_account)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Gay, Gen, Hamilton - Freeform, Island - Freeform, Jamilton - Freeform, Love, M/M, Magic, Other, Pining, Sailor AU, Sickness, Sirens, Washette - Freeform, alot of gay tbh, fairytails, george is a sailor, laf and thomas are sirens, lots of pining, mystic AU, sailors, singing sirens, siren au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nightlock_21
Summary: “Do you believe in that tale, Hamilton?” It was a simple enough question. Alexander's face contorted into thought, his toe tapping quickly on the hardwood floor. George knew his answer to the question; he was not a man to believe tales, especially those shared in drunken whispers and a mother's warning to be good.“I believe that there are troubled souls seeking redemption,” Alex answered carefully, sitting atop a barrel.





	1. Siren's Pass

  George never felt more at home then when he was on the open seas. His crew was his family, and he had never felt closer to a group of people then he did the people he shared a ship with. His favorite wake-up was stumbling on deck to the spray of the salty sea in his face, smelling refreshing, grounding him to his surroundings. His young mate would already be up and about, scrambling around, dark eyes wide and eager for the day. Alexander was a force to be reckoned with, especially in the morning or late nights when he was in his element.

It was on this day that Alexander was running through his checklist, having seemingly already gone through the first few pages of cargo checks, and was now scurrying along the deck. He called out for the sea-anchor to be raised as he spotted Washington, and quickly ran to help with the mooring. George raised an eyebrow and walked briskly to help the men lift the anchor, putting his sore muscles to good work.

He heard someone- most likely Alexander - call to raise the sails, and George took it as his cue to find his way to the wheel, pulling out the pocket compass that Martha had gotten him years ago for his birthday. He would be lying if he said his heart did not ache for her, though it was truth that his marriage was in place to make families happy and to keep their friendship in a close bond. George preferred the romantic company of men, and the sexual company of none, while Martha preferred only platonics in the sense of love and sexuality.

Alexander was soon joining him, words falling from his mouth as he struck up quiet conversation. On this particular day that meant that Aaron Burr had taken up status as first mate while Alexander surveyed the Captain. It was common knowledge that Alexander was to inherit the ship and assume status as Captain when George was no longer fit to Captain, and that lead to moments of Burr trained as first mate and Hamilton watching carefully as Washington clearly and gracefully exerted his knowledge and talent for command. George had known Hamilton's mother for years, and when she passed away he took him in as cabin boy. Years later and he had grown in his age and ranks.

“Cargo?” George asked calmly, not taking his eyes off the vast expanse of sea. Alexander scurried forward and read the reports, inserting in his own comments. “You should have woken me up sooner, my boy. The sea waits for no man.” George took this moment to glance at Alexander, who just now seemed a whole lot more tired, dark bags forming under his eyes. With Alexander only being First Mate, he still seemed to get way less sleep then George was accustomed to. It was a wonder the boy was so energetic throughout the day.

“We’re supposed to be entering Siren’s Pass today, sir,” Alex butted in, regarding the map he had inspected on the desk of the Captain’s Cabin. George huffed a small breath of air and cracked a smile. His head filled with the fantasies filled in storybooks from when he was a child, and he couldn't help himself but to ask of it.

“Did your mother ever tell you the tale of the Sirens?” George was careful not to mention her passing, and watched Alexander’s face contort while he picked his brain for the memories. It took a minute or so before Alexander stretched a grin across his face (which looked messily unkempt, stubble spreading across his neatly-shaved face and his hair blown in his eyes.) He nodded. 

“Yessir. It was one of her favorite tales.” His bright eyes eagerly awaited George's next words, eyebrows raised in what seemed to be a reminiscent fashion.

“Would you care to relay it to me? It’s much too early for our sailing songs and I’m in want of a tale.” Of course George already knew the tale by heart. It was engraved into the minds of the youth, _“Do not enter Siren’s Pass unless ye a heart for adventure.”_ George never heeded the warning, but his routes usually kept him away. This time, though - This time George was passing right through it.

“The tale tells of two sirens - twin brothers, they say. Most say that they used to be alive, and were last seen decades ago, on a ship back from France. They apparently had the voices of angels - one of them, who wore smooth-flying dresses and swirling skirts, would sing up on deck for the sailors to hear. His brother would join and their voice combined into a melody of sweetness. It’s said that one day, the youngest brother, the dresses one, was… taken advantage of by a drunken sailor. His brother came to his rescue and they were pushed overboard. Since that day ships have gone missing in the Siren’s Pass, and two sweet voices are said to be heard past the thick fog. Most people tell stories of a sorrowful song of the youngest, laced with a brother's anger. It’s a cautionary tale for sailors and for young children who wish to be rowdy adventurers.”

“Do you believe in that tale, Hamilton?” It was a simple enough question. Alexander's face contorted into thought, his toe tapping quickly on the hardwood floor. George knew his answer to the question; he was not a man to believe tales, especially those shared in drunken whispers and a mother's warning to be good.

“I believe that there are troubled souls seeking redemption,” Alex answered carefully, sitting atop a barrel. George hummed slightly, and called out directions for the mast, as he was to make a steep turn. The words were yelled back and forth the ship a couple of times before it reached the sailors assigned to the sails. George found himself once more missing the company of his wife and friend Martha, and brought up the subject with his young mate.

"Do you have anyone waiting for you at home, son?" Washington asked warily, studying Alex's face. He was young, his late teens, early twenties, and he had a face handsome enough for reasonable family. He tries to recall the moment; he remembers not being able to make it to Hamilton's wedding, and the letters he kept bundled up in his cabin. It dawned on him that he really did not know all too much about Hamilton, despite the many years Hamilton had been working under him.

"My wife, son and daughter. My wife is... she's great. My son is six, and my daughter still young enough to feed off her mother's teet. How fares your family life?" Hamilton's response was curt, but pride shone in his eyes when he talked of his young son. It took George a moment to process that Hamilton had asked him about his wife, and quickly answered.

"My wife and I are best of friends, but frank enough we do not find the company of each other's beds to be pleasant for us." George answered. Hamilton nodded, and make a noise of agreement.

"I know how that feels. My wife and I, we don't see eye to eye and do not share the same preferences. I love her, but my eyes... wander to those of men and she is infatuated with the female sex." a noise of surprise left Washington's lips. It seemed rare to find those who understood the pain of loving the opposite sex, but to find someone so close to him.. it comforted him, strangely enough.

“I am glad to have found a friend of which I can relate to,” George mentioned, smiling. “Do you think the men have awaken enough to begin our daily songs?” George asked, to which Hamilton opened his mouth, and it seemed the most graceful noise had come out. It quickly stopped, and though it seemed to have surprised both Alex and George. They met eyes and shook their heads, and Alex started up singing once more. His voice was not as soft as the voice before but it got the other men to sing and smile and enjoy their work. Alex, after the moment, mentioned to George that he would be helping Burr with the first mate duties as to clear his head. George had suggested a nap as Alexander passed, to where he heard a sigh. George watched Alexander walk back on deck and turned back to the roaring ocean. 

His sailing master, a short burly man named James, found his way to George, map rolled up under his arm. James pulled two pins from between his teeth and tacks the map on top of an empty crate that had found its way above deck. "I've heard Siren's Pass is difficult to maneuver. Your skills are great and all, but I figured you might want some help. If this ship goes down, I go down, and I'd rather not." George snorted, glancing at James. 

"Then tell me how to do this."

James glanced down at the map, shaking his head. "Not yet. We still have a bit before we get into the rocky parts." James was, most oftenly, a quiet sort of man, and wasn't one for conversation. This left George to his own thoughts, the loud cheers and singing of his crewmen bouncing around the deck of the ship. As the day grew on the waters became more dangerous and rocks and icebergs started popping up along the way, some of which James would pointedly say "you turned the wrong way." He knew that it would take days to make it past the large expanse of water that was Siren's Pass, but he prayed to God for safe journey nonetheless. 

It took a young face padding up next to him and a "Washington, Sir, shall we lower the anchor and set out for dinner?" George drew out of his own mind to nod briskly at Hamilton. 

"James, pack up. Alexander, tell the crew it's time to drop anchor for tonight. I think it was Hercules' turn to watch the wheel tonight, yes?" George asked, but Hamilton was already gone, scurrying off to alert the crew. George shrugged and glanced towards James. "Keep an eye on this until Hercules comes. I need to make sure Alexander doesn't end up falling overboard." James nodded, and George left with a sigh to make sure the young lad was okay.

During dinner that night (George took his with the rest of the crew. He found it to strike a bond), the conversation was lively, 'spooky' tales shared of the twin Sirens of Siren's Pass. The tale had variously been changed, as are most tales when told, but they all boiled down to the twin brothers thrown overboard. For some reason, it brought shivers to George's spine, an uncomfortable feeling buried deep in his stomach. He remembered the sweet note sung by no one. He faked sick and took to his room. 

Now George had never been one to remember dreams. They had always been nothing, just a time travel from when he closed his eyes to when he opened them. This night, things were different. This night his dreams were crashing waves and sad, sad songs hiding the anger of hurt. He could see a face underneath the waves, dark and beautiful and mysterious. He felt like reaching out, touching the face, getting a closer look. The face smiled, eyes bright and searching, curls spinning in the murky water. The song took a turn, twisting with anger and a dreadful feeling loomed over him. The bright eyes he had seen before turned yellow, and hands grew into webbed claws. He was no longer looking into the face of a beautiful human, but instead that of a dreadful monster.

He lie awake in a cold sweat, eyes tired and stinging. He still had the face clear in his mind, sad and hurt and dark. 

Alexander had a captain day today. George would sit by, watch and evaluate and mentor as Alexander took his place for the day. George had awoken to find that Alex had already started, meaning there was a very grumpy, very tired, probably very annoyed James somewhere and that scared him in the lightest of senses. George may not have been a morning person, but James was a never person.

He started helping where he could, chatting amongst the crew as they cheerily mentioned the families they would get to reunite with back home. George mentioned Martha a couple of times, and the men laughed and traded tales of the first time they had met the fiery woman; Martha was like the crew mom. When the men had no family to return to, or their families were out of town when they had arrived, Martha would invite them back to stay with them, and treated them like family. She was always ready to challenge you with a witty remark and a stare that would send shivers down your spine. She had always wanted children; but she was barren and not quite.. excited for the extracurricular activities that would have to ensue.

George relieved himself from the small group of rowdy men, and made his way to the kitchen to check on Hercules. When he arrived he found the man whistling a tune, preparing that night's meal. Hercules was usually a very loud, rowdy man, but he took on almost a second personality when he was in the kitchen. His demeanor softened and he was open to visitors of which he would tell a tale or two. Hercules seemed to come from the most domestic background on the ship, having been a tailor beforehand. Crewmen would sometimes bring torn breeches or ripped sleeves for him to patch up, and he'd do so with a smile on his face and a song on his lips.

"How fare thee, Hercules?" George asked. Herc smiled wide and set down his knife, leaning against the counter. 

"I'm doing well, Cap'n," He replied, raking a hand through his hair. "Excited that this journey will be over soon enough and I'll be able to see my wife once more," Hercules nodded, picking his knife, continuing to chop up the smoked meat he had been cutting prior to George's interruption. "My wife is expecting and I pray to be there for my child's birthing."

"Oh, congratulations," George politely said. "Are you hoping for a certain sex?" Hercules laughed heartily, his dark skin lighting up with a lively glow of pride. 

"Nay, sir, though I do hope the child comes out healthy. Be it boy or be it girl, I'll teach them to be just like their Papa; a sailor at heart and a hearty fellow." George smiled and couldn't help the chuckle he emitted.

"You'll be a good father, Mulligan." 

"Thank ye, sir."

George bid his goodbyes and exited the small cabin area to find dark clouds looming ahead, and the fog thick. Alexander was at the wheel, his eyes focused and ready for whatever may come his way. There was a smell of storm in the air, and George was on his way to take over Alex's duties until a safer date, when it started. The waves crashed long and hard against the sides of the ship, water tumbling over the boy as it hit the front. The air was salty and frigid, and thunder rolled dangerously in the near distance. 

A sharp high pitched wail fell across the whole ship, and everyone stopped. George couldn't seem to move, his feet frozen to the ground, heart beating fast. He tried to plug his ears in disdain only to find that the noise echoed past, long and dull and drawn out. The song brought sorrow to George’s heart, filled it with sadness as it grew into almost a whimper, the melody sad and sweet and void of anything but heart-wrenching misery. Soon another voice joined, softer and lower, pitching in it’s song of anger, sending flashes of red throughout George’s body. He recognized this as the song from his dream, and the glowing eyes and snarled teeth flashed in his mind.

The wind had started up, cold and unforgiving as it nipped at the the back of his neck. His cravat had come undone in the brisk damp air, flying up and catching on the mast. The sailors were all trying to find their way overboard, and no one was listening to his desperate commands of _“Lower the sails! LOWER THE SAILS!”_ that exited George's mouth. The wind had caught the sail as the men and women alike filed their way off of the boat into the harsh sea. George was crying out in despair, trying to drag men back on, but it was a useless affair. He made his way back to Alexander in hurry, to find that he was frantically running about, close to sobs. He grabbed the boy by the middle and held tightly.

“Sir? Sir is that you? Oh thank god, you aren’t like them, you aren’t jumping off-”

George started walking, silencing the boy for once. He was trying to make it somewhere, maybe into his cabin or below deck? He just wanted safety, to make it home to see his Martha.

“Hamilton! Do you know what’s going on?” George shouted past the wind and whistling sea, eyes closed against the harsh brush of saltwater, shoulders stiffening in worry. 

“Can’t you tell sir? It’s the Siren’s song.”

That’s when the waves crashed, and the rocks seemed to come out of nowhere. 


	2. Bonne Nuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He died years ago, over thirty years ago, and yet here he was, with a tail that could turn to scaled legs, fins and gills that without he would surely die, and lungs for the air above the dark waters.
> 
> A siren, with a voice like satin ribbon, twisting into sailor’s hearts until they were weak and their hearts would yearn to get nearer, even if it meant jumping overboard the ship, swimming until their lungs filled with water, or their skin froze to unhealthy conditions.
> 
> Lafayette and Thomas were given a second chance to life, but cursed with the instinctive animal-like hunger to sing when a ship entered their domain.
> 
> They were killers.

George awoke with a burning in his eyes and a pain in his lungs. He sputtered, coughing up salty water mixed with stomach acid, holding his stomach. The sun was bright and bleary in the sky, and he had no idea where he was. 

Sand stuck to his dry skin, which was sunburnt and hurt as he tried to move. His first thought of  _ “Alexander!”  _ brought him to a sitting position, eyes surveying the land before him. His limbs were sore, and he’d wondered how long he had been out, and when he had washed up on the island.

It was a vast expanse of land, a large forest-jungle type biome stretching not too far behind him, touching where the beach ended. He stood to his feet, brushing the sand from his legs, which had slipped through the torn fabric of his breeches. When he opened his mouth to yell he found his voice hoarse.

_ “ALEXANDER!”  _ he croaked as loud as he could, taking a painful step forward. 

No answer. George’s everything hurt, and he found the motivation to move had disappeared. He forced his sore feet to take steps toward the ocean, so he would at least have something to watch. 

He fell to his ass with an ‘ _ umph _ ,’, wishing for a moment that his old bones were young again. He was only forty, but he was not as young as he used to be. His dark eyes stared at the surprisingly calm ocean until dark, left alone with his thoughts of home and loneliness.

He had troubles sleeping. He could not way himself into sleeping, instead focusing out on the dark waters as they reflected the shimmering light of the moon. He was not sure what dangers the forest would contain, that being, even though he was rested and his stomach complained about lack of food, it was dark and he was not prepared to face any troubles that may lie ahead. 

He had finally gotten weary and was half asleep when he heard a soft voice catch him out of his half-asleep mind. His eyes opened carefully, surveying in front of him. A young face popped up from beneath the waves, dark curls springing to life as they entered land. George was honestly surprised; the figure didn’t seem to have any trace of water in their hair and on their face.

The figure smiled, their teeth almost blinding in the darkness. George moved forward until his old eyes could clearly make out the figure’s face; a man with dark eyes and dark skin, hints of stubble across his chin. George blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, and when the figure stayed put, he clearly extended his hand.

“Hello,” he ventured. The young man took his hand and shook, even going as far as to kiss the knuckles of George’s hand. 

“Bonjour.” The man looked behind him quietly, then turned back towards George. “I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,” he giggled, then added, “It’s a handful, I know. You may call Gilbert, if you wish, or Lafayette.”

“Well…  _ Lafayette, _ I’m George. George Washington.” George sat down from his crouching position, steadying himself. “Why don’t you come onto the beach? It’s probably freezing in that water.”

Lafayette’s smile dimmed, and the flinched away, looking anywhere but George. “I can’t,” he answered coldly. George’s face distorted into confusion, glancing warily at Lafayette. He caught his eyes, and Lafayette’s face softened considerably. “I’m sorry. It’s just… My brother wouldn’t be too happy about it. And it’s much more comfortable for me in the water.”

“Is your brother around here?” George asked. Lafayette shook his head. 

“No, he’s back by the rocks. He doesn’t even know I left.” 

“The rocks? Lafayette what are you talking abo-”

“I have to go soon. I know where your men are. I can show you the way, only if you promise to keep quiet about me.” They smiled once more, and began swimming farther down the beach. George had to jog to keep up, and he had to admit, his rickety old bones did not like to oblige. “Keep walking down this way, and you’ll find them.” 

George crouched once more. “Thank you.”

“De rien,” he brushed off. He turned around, taking one more glance at George. “Au revoir, George Washington.” He started to dive under water, but George grabbed his shoulder, a worry crease appearing in his eyebrows.

“Wait.”  
“Qui a-t-il ?”

“Will I see you again?” He asked, hopefully. This man intrigued him in a way he had never been intrigued before, and he only wanted more. He grinned, wide.

“Bet on it.”

George watched him disappear curiously under the water before heading back on his path. Just go forward, he was told. Just go forward.

Lafayette, on the other hand, was trying his hardest to get back to the rocks in time. If all went according to plan he could be there before Thomas woke up. 

That plan was soon discarded when he found Thomas waiting for him, arms crossed and lips pursed. He had no backup plan, but was sure he could find some way to talk Thomas into letting him see George again.

“Lafayette.”

“Thomas, please just hear me ou-”

“You could’ve been hurt.” Lafayette glanced away. He knew Thomas was right, but George wouldn’t harm them. George seemed nice, way nicer than those sailor- “Lafayette, please just look at me.” He caught Thomas’ eyes again. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again. You’re my sibling, my twin. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Thomas. We’re immortal. Water can’t kill me, and that man is harmless. Besides, I can fend for myself.” Thomas sighed dejectedly, placing a firm hand on Lafayette’s shoulders.

“I know you can. When we left France I promised mom that I would protect you. I never got to be your brother when we were growing up, being sent to America and all. Now I can, and I want you to be safe. I love you too much to let you go.”

“Je t’aime aussi,” Lafayette looked up at Thomas, softening. “I understand you want to protect me, but I’ve spent almost thirty years just… cooped up. I need adventure. And as much as I love you, I need interaction. You’ll always come first, mon frere, but I need  _ more. _ ”

“I… I’m just worried.”

“I know you are,” Lafayette smiled. “I promise you have no reason to be. I’ll be safe.”

Thomas could only nod. He was worried, but Lafayette had made good points, and he’d rather not lose his brother over some silly discourse. 

“Bonne nuit.” They hadn’t actually slept in years, but when either one said “goodnight” it meant hours of time to themselves, thinking, just being. Lafayette was usually the one to initiate these periods of time; he would sit and reflect, wondering why and how he got into this situation.

He died years ago, over thirty years ago, and yet here he was, with a tail that could turn to scaled legs, fins and gills that without he would surely die, and lungs for the air above the dark waters.

A siren, with a voice like satin ribbon, twisting into sailor’s hearts until they were weak and their hearts would yearn to get nearer, even if it meant jumping overboard the ship, swimming until their lungs filled with water, or their skin froze to unhealthy conditions. 

Lafayette and Thomas were given a second chance to life, but cursed with the instinctive animal-like hunger to sing when a ship entered their domain.

They were killers. Horrible people with horrible lifestyles, even if they did not choose them.

Lafayette sat himself onto a large cold stone atop the waves, looking into the dark sky, searching for answers.

* * *

 

By the time George saw the sleeping, huddled bodies and the burnt-out fire, the sun was just rising against the sky. His weary steps were growing heavier, and he found himself falling face-down into the sand, breathing jagged. He remembered being in much better shape than that, but then again, he had never been shipwrecked. 

Before George knew it two pairs of arms were lifting him by his sides, and a familiar face popped in his face as he rocked back onto his heels, blinking away the stinging in his eyes.

“Hamilton?”

“Washington!” Alexander caught Washington ‘round the middle and hugged, hard, laughing gleefully. “I thought you had died, I was so scared!”

“It’s alright, son, I’m alive. I was afraid that  _ you  _ had perished.” Alexander laughed once more, which was joined by two other bouts of laughter, one loud and hearty, the other high and tinkling like bells.

George glanced around him to find Hercules and another crewmate, Maria, sitting behind him. He figured these were the two that helped him up, and turned back to Alexander. “Are you three the on-”

“Madison and Burr are off gathering food. And John is gathering firewood for tonight. There are a couple safe fruit trees at the entrance to the jungle, and if we boil the water it’s drinkable.”

“We have the materials to boil the water?” George asked. 

“Debris from the boat landed around here. We’ve found some supplies, chipped bowls and such.” Maria replied. Her signature red skirt was in tatters, and George wondered if Hercules’ sewing items had wound up somewhere on the island.

“Are all of you alright?” George asked. Hamilton shrugged.

“We’ve been surviving. We haven't had much time to venture, and we’ve been awake for quite some time now, but we’re unsure how long it was before Maria got us awake.” Alexander helped George onto his feet. “James had a bad gash in his arm but luckily the kitchen crashed closest to here and Hercules’ stuff has been scattered across the beach. It’s not the best job, but he’s sewn up for now.”

“Washington!” A far-off voice called out, and the four turned around to find young John Laurens running towards them, smile brightening his dirt-stained face. “You’re alive and well, I see!” He was holding a fair amount of wood in his arms, looking mightily relieved. “You’ve looked better, sir,” John joked.

“Old age is getting to me, huh?” George chuckled, and followed John to the small “camp” they had set up. “You don't look much better, Laurens.” He added. John snorted, setting the wood down.

“I saw James and Aaron heading this way. They were finishing up,” John said, turning to enter conversation with Alexander. 

It wasn't too long before James and Aaron were back, toting fruit with them. Hercules and Maria started sorting the good fruit from the bad, as Aaron and Alexander went to fetch water. John was starting the fire while James sat idly by dictating John on his technique. George, unfortunately, was not allowed to help at the moment, for he looked the definition of weary.

The night was filled with laughter and stories, wishings and longings of home. George laughed along, told his own stories, - mostly of home and of Martha - but he could not get Lafayette out of his mind.

He took first watch and stared out at the ocean for what seemed to be hours before Hamilton awoke and he drifted off into sleep.

He dreamt of deep darkness and long fishtails, ghostly smiled shimmering in pools of moonlit water.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an au I've been cooking up for a while now, and I've finally gotten the time to start writing it. I'll try to update at least once a week, if not more (I'll get a friend on my case about it.)
> 
> Comments, Kudos and feedback are greatly appreciated! It helps my motivation for writing, and I love hearing from people! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!


End file.
